


hold me, kiss me, rip off my tongue

by multifandom_fanfic_writer



Series: Fics Hannibal Would Cook For [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom Will Graham, Dom/sub, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, I mean sane? with these boys? please, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Submissive Hannibal, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, around the tobias budge area, dominant will, i love blowjobs i admit it, i mean timelines who even ikr?, mostly not sane, no beta we die like Tobias, slight BDSM, slightest bit of bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandom_fanfic_writer/pseuds/multifandom_fanfic_writer
Summary: “Would you do anything for me, if I asked?” Will asks.“Anything.”“Would you kill for me?”“Yes,” Hannibal whispers, eyes darkening. Will angles closer, lips almost brushing.“Would you kneel for me?”Hannibal freezes. Closes his eyes. Will knows that in this moment, he has come closer to the truth of what Hannibal is than anyone has ever come before.“Yes,” Hannibal confesses and does.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Fics Hannibal Would Cook For [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115867
Comments: 69
Kudos: 449
Collections: Wendigo & Stag





	1. epiphany

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Break Open Your Chest (Just To Count Your Heartbeats)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188577) by [everybreathagift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift). 



> The title is inspirerd by this dutch song: [bijt mijn tong af](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aW-iEzor9f0&ab_channel=JoostvanderWiel)!
> 
> Will has no encephalitis because I said so

_when is a monster not a monster?  
_ _oh, when you love it._

* * *

One thing to understand about Will Graham: he has killers in his head, yes, but he has invited them in.

* * *

Will notices things.

He notices a lot of things, _can’t turn it off,_ and some of these things are about Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

He notices how the doctor likes touching him. Nothing invasive, nothing overt. Subtle touches – the elbow, the shoulder; lately, his lower back.

He notices how Hannibal does not touch anyone else. How he never seems to be in another’s personal space, not if he can avoid it. Alana is the only exception to this, and even then it is rare. And Will, of course. Always Will.

Will notices how Hannibal smells him. The first time, he cannot help but remark on it, genuinely surprised.

The second time, he only raises his eyebrows. The third, and fourth, and so on, he does not even twitch.

And last, but not least: he watches Hannibal watching him eat.

Breakfast at his motel, unusual but not that out of the norm, the doctor just another person to try to get into his head. But as time goes on, Hannibal’s eyes linger more and more.

It’s not just Will he does this to, Will eventually realizes. A dinner with Jack, who Hannibal watches just as intently as he takes the first bite, meat steaming hot on his fork. Beverly and Price and Zeller, when a late lab night is brightened by Hannibal bringing them all food.

Watching them eat it.

But, as time goes on, and Will finds himself sharing food with Hannibal more often (who touches him and smells him and whose eyes linger at his mouth) Will notices how Hannibal always watches him first.

It could be an alpha-posturing kind of thing, Will muses. Because Hannibal certainly is one. He takes over any room he is in, drawing gazes and playing with conversations like they are strings on his harpsichord. Where someone like Jack likes to prove his dominance by screaming and someone like Chilton stumbles through it with lies and embellishment, for Hannibal, it comes naturally. The way he holds himself. The intensity in the dark gaze, making you feel like you’re the only person in the room that matters. Will has seen many a man or woman fall to that gaze, the careful words, the polished suits.

Sometimes, he thinks as he’s watching Hannibal charm an agent on the scene or an FBI intern at the BAU, he is sure the man is just running on auto-pilot.

Will won’t lie. It is attractive.

It also makes him weary.

(A predator.)

(No. A killer. Hannibal has killed before. Will does not know how, or when, or why, but his instincts are screaming at him. Will has not come this far by ignoring his instincts.)

It could be that. Providing his pack with food, so to say, showing them he’s a capable hunter. Though Will doubts it. There is something a little too dark in the doctor’s eyes for that.

It could be something sexual – Will doesn’t kink shame, and it’s not like Hannibal ever oversteps boundaries. But Will discards the thought as soon as it comes to him. As their sessions together increase in number and the minuscule movements of Hannibal’s face become the language in which Will reads him, he fails to see anything in the doctor’s eyes that indicates that.

Well.

With anyone other than Will. In this, as well, he seems to be the exception.

Because, as time goes on and he finds himself at Hannibal’s dinner table more often, the doctor grows bolder.

The touch on his elbow lingers as he is guided to his seat.

Stepping out of the car towards the lab, Hannibal is so far into his personal space he doesn’t need to lean forward to smell him.

He gets invited to dinner more often. Twice a week now, _providing routine. We might even have a pleasant evening_ , and twice a week Hannibal watches Will eat.

Will watches Hannibal watching him.

Maroon eyes flicker to his lips more and more often.

Will starts to eat slower, more carefully. Savouring the first bite – which is always heavenly. Closing his eyes. Sometimes, he lets the juices flow past his lips and drip down his chin. Once, he moans slightly at a particularly good piece of rib.

When he opens his eyes, Hannibal’s hand is clenched white around his fork.

The dark eyes on him are so intent Will feels he might drown in them.

It’s not quite sexual, or at least, not just sexual. It’s more than that. It’s _intimate_.

So he puts his fork down, runs his thumb along the corner of his lip to catch the juices dripping past it, and puts his thumb back into his mouth. God, even doing this feels sinful.

He sucks once, slowly, keeping Hannibal’s gaze.

Hannibal swallows thickly.

“You’ve really outdone yourself today, Doctor Lecter,” Will says slowly.

Hannibal blinks. His nostrils flare. His control is iron-clad.

“Thank you, dear Will,” Hannibal responds evenly, inclining his head. “It is always a pleasure to present my friends with my proudest achievements.”

The corner of Will’s mouth turns up, and they finish their dinner in silence.

It tastes delicious, as always. From the wall, _Leda and the Swan_ regards them both.

Hannibal’s eyes never leave Will’s face. Will savours his meal and pretends not to notice.

As Will finally puts down his fork, he hears Hannibal take a breath. Stand up.

“It is time for desert,” he says, and Will thinks of a hand on his elbow.

“Let me help,” he replies politely, already standing up and holding his own plate in two hands. Steady.

“That is not necessary,” Hannibal protests politely. “You are my guest.”

Will smiles. “I’ve eaten at your table often enough that I’m starting to feel guilty about letting you do all the work. I’ll help with this, and even with the dishes afterwards, if you are feeling particularly scandalous.”

Hannibal regards him intently, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The light of the setting sun casts a shadow over his face.

Will looks up at him through his lashes. “Please. I don’t want to be rude.”

Hannibal does not react for one moment, then nods. Turns around.

Will follows him into the kitchen.

The table is cleared swiftly, and soon Will is standing awkwardly in the kitchen, watching Hannibal prepare their desert.

“Blackberry currant with fresh mint leaves, mascarpone and,” Hannibal says as he takes a piping bag full of whipped cream out of the refrigerator and shoots Will his signature disarming smile, “a little bit of sweetness to top it off.”

Will steps closer, watches Hannibal decorate the pastry with fascination. The countertops gleam with cleanness.

Here, in the kitchen, Hannibal feels real.

“It looks good,” Will says as Hannibal straightens. There is a little bit of cream left at the tip of the piping bag. Will eyes it. Thinks of Hannibal leaning in, breathing deep. “Here,” he continues, moving forward into Hannibal’s space, “let me.”

He wipes the cream from the tip with his finger. Brings it to his own mouth, tongue already caressing his bottom lip, then halts.

Raises his gaze. Finds Hannibal, holding himself still like a predator waiting to pounce, watching him with fathomless eyes.

Will turns his finger around and brings it to Hannibal’s lips instead.

For a moment, Hannibal doesn’t move. Does not react at all. Will feels a smidge of panic rise up in his gut. Was this a mistake? Offensive? Hannibal might command him out of his kitchen and his life right now, and would even do it without raising his voice. And then Will would lose him.

_Empty house, empty evenings, the looming visage of the BAU-_

But then Hannibal opens his mouth and allows Will to press his cream-coated finger on his tongue.

The feeling of Hannibal’s tongue against his fingertip makes Will shiver. Hannibal’s eyes are like smouldering coal as his mouth closes around Will’s digit, sucking once.

The visual is enticing. Will lets out a shaky breath. Bites his lip.

The next thing he knows Hannibal is on him.

The soft sound of the piping bag hitting the counter barely registers as the cold handle of the refrigerator suddenly digs into his back. The coldness of the appliance behind him is in sharp contrast with the warmth of Hannibal’s body pressed up against his front.

Hannibal’s lips are urgent, devouring, taking Will’s mouth for his own and conquering it. The profiler is powerless to resist.

There is no air between them that isn’t shared. No room for anything but the scent, the touch, the taste of the other. Will doesn’t so much open his mouth as let his lips be parted, and groans softly at the feeling of Hannibal’s tongue inside of him, the smell of expensive cologne and the sweetness of dessert and underneath that something heavier that is uniquely Hannibal invading his nose-

As quick as the kiss begins, it ends.

Will has to remember his eyes are closed before he can open them. Hannibal has retreated to the kitchenette opposite him, still facing Will. His hands are on the counter behind him, as if it is the sole thing holding him upright. His body is curved slightly, visibly tense, and his chest is heaving.

Today, Hannibal had worn a plaid suit jacket, but a plain tie and pocket square.

Will almost doesn’t catch the words as it leaves Hannibal’s lips as a deep exhale.

“Fuck.”

The profiler can’t help the sly smile that appears on his face as Hannibal gathers himself remarkably quickly.

Remarkably.

“My apologies,” the doctor says stiffly, “that was entirely inappropriate, not to mention quite rude. I hope you will forgive me my misstep.”

Will cocks his head. “I can’t believe I made the prim and proper Dr. Lecter swear,” voice bordering on the edge of sing-song, almost giddy.

Will feels giddy.

“You have the gift of bringing out my less sophisticated side,” Hannibal admits and meets Will’s gaze once more, face still closed off. “I can never entirely predict you.”

“I can’t wait to tell everyone that you are a real human being underneath,” Will says and takes a step closer. Runs his tongue across his bottom lip. Does not think about how his first impulse, when Hannibal invaded his mouth, was to bite him.

Dark eyes flash. “They won’t believe you,” Hannibal says in such a way that would, in most cases, make it clear he is teasing.

“I think, Dr. Lecter,” Will takes another step closer. If he raises his hands, he can touch Hannibal’s shoulder. He wonders how it would feel against his hand, muscle and flesh, “that there are a lot of things about you that _they_ will not believe.”

Hannibal looks at him.

Will steps forward and presses his lips to Hannibal once more.

This time their kiss is slower, sweeter. They move sensually against each other, unhurried, savouring. Hannibal’s lips are soft, well taken care of, and he tastes like the meat they’ve just eaten. Will runs his tongue across Hannibal’s upper lip and Hannibal nibs Will in response. One hand creeps upwards, and Will opens his mouth as he grasps Hannibal’s hair and pulls his whole body closer. It is soft. He wonders wat kind of product Hannibal uses.

If he prefers taking a shower, or taking a bath.

Hannibal responds by plunging into his mouth with abandon, deepening the kiss and letting his hands roam across Will’s body. His arms, his back, teasing at his hips. Nothing inappropriate, not quite. It makes Will shiver with need.

Will can feel himself stiffen, can feel the way Hannibal’s hands press into his back, holding him close as if he wants to merge their two bodies into one. Their kiss turns filthier, little gasps and sounds escaping the both of them, although Will is the only one who moans out loud in pleasure.

Hannibal takes that as encouragement and grabs Will’s hair as well, tilting his head and pressing a kiss against his ear, then his jaw, then his neck. Will’s hands are clasping at whatever part of Hannibal’s body is nearest, by this point, his whole body hot.

In the end, it is Hannibal who pushes back against him and grinds their hips together, letting out a low groan as their clothed erections push against each other.

Grasping for breath, Will pulls back, and Hannibal meets his eyes.

For a moment, Hannibal’s pupils are wide and unfocused. Will is so focused on him he feels like he falls forward into the deep vestiges of Hannibal’s mind, a palace with art and royal corridors and dark corners and a looming castle-

Hannibal blinks. The moment is broken.

Somehow, Will gets the impression Hannibal’s guard is up once more, even though nothing in the older man’s body language gives any indication of such a thing.

When Will noses forward and presses a kiss against the sharp line of Hannibal’s jaw, his eyes fall onto the kitchen knives on the counter. They are within easy reach.

“Hannibal,” he breathes against warm flesh and feels Hannibal shiver in his arms. The older man moves his hands to Will’s hips, hovering over them uncertainly for a second too long before touching him gently.

“Will,” he responds roughly and for a moment it is silent.

Will straightens.

“Would you like to go upstairs?” Hannibal asks after a pause that is just too long to be natural.

Will studies him. His face, the curve of his lips, but most of all his eyes.

The corners are slightly crinkled. The knives are still within reach.

He shifts his hips backwards slightly.

“Maybe we should save that for another day,” Will responds softly, bringing his hand up to caress Hannibal’s cheek.

The pause is a second to long. “Should we?” Hannibal asks. “You do not have to hold back on my account, I assure you.”

“Don’t I?” Will responds. Hannibal falls silent.

Will moves closer to give one quick peck on still-glistering lips, opens his mouth to break the tension that has started to rise in the kitchen. “We’re not in a hurry.”

Will is the one who pulls back from their embrace. Hannibal lets him.

The doctor is watching him. His expression is unreadable.

“I had a lovely evening,” Will says, unable to stop the colour rising to his cheeks. “I’ll see you this Friday?”

“You keep surprising me,” Hannibal says. Then: “Of course.” The man does not move.

Will smiles. Dips his head. Turns around. Leaves.

He feels Hannibal’s eyes on his back the whole time.

* * *

Thursday passes by without incident. Will teaches his classes, walks his dogs and does not think of Hannibal every single second of the day.

He dreams of the ravenstag, that night. It runs at him, charges him, skewers him with its horns. When Will lays on the ground, dying, it cries in anguish, feathers rustling.

Will touches its fur in forgiveness and dies. When he wakes, he is standing in his kitchen, staring at the knives.

He spends the rest of the night dozing between the dogs.

Friday is his day off. He goes fishing, which is lovely. Debates bringing Hannibal his catch, then discards the thought. Maybe later. Would Hannibal see it as encroaching on his territory?

He wonders what Hannibal has dreamt of that night. If it still feels real to him.

What do they do now?

Fidgeting with his fishing lures, Will watches the afternoon pass by. He is still in old, dirty clothes and his hair is filthy from the afternoon on the river.

In two hours, he will drive to Baltimore.

(There is no racoon. Will does not call Alana.)

She still comes by.

They talk. She smiles. Alana kisses him, and for one moment, Will kisses back. He wants this, he thinks, or she wants it so he wants it. Maybe. His mind is filled with images, stumbling over one another, nights by the fire and walks in the wood and bringing himself lunch at the office.

Imagines what they would be like. What if.

There is no peace to be found in dreams.

Alana’s lips are a little cold, a little pliant. She smells nice. They break apart.

She smiles at him with guilt in her eyes and just a little pity.

Hannibal never pities him.

Hannibal has never made him feel like his desires are not his own.

When Alana is gone, Will does what he can to make himself presentable without erasing her smell off him. Then he steps in the car and drives to Baltimore, one and a half hour early.

Hannibal opens the door with a smile.

“Will,” he says, “I was not expecting you just yet.”

“Sorry,” Will murmurs, but Hannibal interrupts him. “My door is always open for you. Please, come in. I was preparing dinner.”

Hannibal takes a single step back from the doorway and no further. Will brushes past him as he enters, and feels more than hears Hannibal take a deep breath.

Unseen by Hannibal, Will smiles.

There are vegetables simmering softly on the stove. The smell of garlic fills the air, strong and sharp, and Will enjoys the way it feels like small knives pricking in his nostrils.

Hannibal returns to his countertop. He is wearing another odd suit, maroon with a blue pattern, which shouldn’t work like it does. His pocket square and tie are plain black. Will wants to take the pocket square and lick it, rub it against his face, bleed on it. Smear his essence all over it, invisible but always there.

“Was there a cause that brought you to my house this early, or were you simply nearby?”

Hannibal is preparing the meat, handling the knife with ease. The meat does not stand a chance.

Will moves closer until he is standing just out of touching distance. Hannibal is not looking at him, his attention on his work. Will thinks of maroon eyes watching him and the stag in his dreams.

He does not answer Hannibal. Instead, he swiftly picks up one of the smaller pieces of already cut meat, raw and slippery in his hands.

Hannibal stills. Looks up.

Will keeps their gazes locked as he puts the piece of raw meat in his mouth, chews once, twice, then swallows.

Hannibal has frozen completely. His pupils dilate.

“Alana Bloom kissed me today,” Will says and Hannibal pounces.

Will is pushed against the counter forcefully. Hannibal’s hands are all over him, one hand gripping his hair, another on his ass, pressing his willing body closer into Hannibal’s three piece suit.

Hannibal breathes his name shakily before pushing their mouths together, forcing Will’s lips open and licking into his mouth greedily. Will feels his whole body tingle. Moans softly.

Once again, Hannibal pulls back, though this time, he does not go far. The hands on Will’s body only hold him tighter as Hannibal pushes his forehead against Will’s and locks their eyes.

Will is falling, drowning.

He can fly; he can swim; he chooses not to.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me,” a forceful breath, all desire and strength hanging on the last thread of what is left of Hannibal’s iron control, “my dear Will.”

Will can almost see what Hannibal expects to happen. Will would blush, duck his head, look away. Time enough for the person suit to snap into place. Hannibal would coax him back with sweet kisses, gentle touches, then coax him upstairs with the same tenderness. They would make love in the den of his lair, surrounded by sheets that are probably colour-coordinated with Will’s eyes. Afterwards, Will would mumble something about not overstaying, and Hannibal would convince him to stay the night with a loving kiss.

Will has never been one to follow the script.

(The role of lamb is for someone else to play. He is a lion, and he will play like one.)

So instead, Will pulls his lips back, showing his teeth. Hannibal is teetering on the edge in front of his eyes. “I do,” he says. “I do. I’m here. Behind the walls of the persona you show the world. The reactions you show to the world, always calculated, always just a little too textbook.”

He smiles, but it is not a kind one. “I wonder, are you hiding behind your walls, your manners? Or has it become a cage you cannot escape from?”

Pulling back a little, Will enjoys the way Hannibal’s whole body tightens at his words. “Set yourself free. Let me see you. Take me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s mouth drops open and the last thread of control snaps.

The esteemed doctor _growls_ as his hands grip Will’s hips and turn him around forcefully. Will’s hips hit the counter with a soft _oomph_ , but he does not get the chance to catch his breath. Hannibal’s hand is on his back immediately, pushing him down against the cold countertop. It’s a pleasant contrast to the heat coursing through his body.

Hannibal is tearing at his belt, quick fingers making work of his trousers, pulling them down in one go, together with his underwear. The clothes pull at his ankles, and the air of the kitchen is cold against Will’s exposed ass.

Behind him, Hannibal releases the forceful pressure on his back and hips, pulling back. Will hears a drawer open, the clinking of a bottle. The sounds of a belt being undone. Hannibal’s harsh breathing, loud in the silence.

Will has enough time to protest. To turn around in indignity, in anger.

Though half-lidded eyes Will watches the half-cut slab of raw meat just centimetres away from his head.

He spreads his legs as much as he can, curving his back slightly to push his ass up in the air. Presenting.

“ _Will,”_ Hannibal says brokenly and pushes two fingers into him in one smooth move.

The fingers are coated in something that smells like oil, wet and slippery but still rough against his puckered hole. Will breaths in sharply, hums at the feeling, the roughness of the fingers inside of him.

It feels amazing.

Hannibal seeks out his prostate with surgical precision – of course – and Will moans loudly as the fingers start to massage him sweetly. After a short while, his rim begins to relax against the intrusion, already used to it through Will’s recent ministrations in the shower.

Hannibal notices this as well, it seems, and the fingers disappear. Will whines slightly at their loss, but it’s good, that’s a good thing, because it’ll be replaced by something thicker for sure.

“You are exquisite,” Hannibal breathes against his skin, pressing a quick kiss to his neck. He has regained a little of his usual verbosity.

Hannibal’s warmth returns. Now it’s three fingers, scissoring him open.

“No,” Will breathes, and Hannibal stills, fingers trembling. “I don’t want your fingers. I want your cock, and I want to feel it.”

The next breath Hannibal takes is sharp. The fingers disappear.

“Anything,” Hannibal says roughly, coats his cock with oil, and pushes in.

Hannibal’s cock stretches Will open fully. The older man sheathes himself completely in one single push, slow and steady but not hesitating in the least. Savouring the sight, Will is sure of it. The profiler whines in pleasure, hands gripping the edge of the counter and legs spasming as he tries to spread them even further. The stiff length of his cock pushes against the cold of the kitchen cabinets. It feels so good, so deep, the sound of Hannibal’s balls slapping against his ass obscene.

Hannibal does not hesitate to fuck him hard and fast. Will thinks that right now the doctor could not hold up his usual façade of a gentle lover if his life depended on it.

There is more than one way to make the wolf shed his coat.

Will adjusts his hand on the countertop, the limb edging just a little closer to the half-cut loin and gleaming kitchen knife still laying on the counter.

“You play me like no other,” Hannibal gasps, setting a punishing rhythm as he pounds into Will’s ass. “I have not been tempted like this,” adjusting his hips, Hannibal changes the angle slightly and starts hitting Will’s prostate on every stroke, “ever.” It feels good, so good, pleasure shooting though him like lightning strikes.

“Good,” Will pants, and for once decides to not hold back. “You’re mine now, Hannibal, and I, _ahh_ , I won’t let anyone else close enough to try.”

Hannibal surges forward, one hand slipping on Will’s chest to pull him upwards and closer against Hannibal’s own chest, pressing them together. The skin-on-skin contact is overwhelming.

He feels like he’s floating.

He does not know when he has last been touched like this by another. By someone who has been worthy enough to slip past his walls, even just a little.

(Will does not know if those thoughts are Hannibal’s or his own.)

Will does know it is Hannibal’s other hand wrapping around his cock, tugging ferociously as Hannibal clenches his muscles and increases the force behind his thrusts, doing his uttermost best to press himself wholly inside of Will.

Will’s breath hitches and his fingers curl. Heat builds in his stomach, fast, faster, until it is flowing out of him. He comes with a shout and a whimper, splaying his come all over the kitchen countertop. There is even a little on the meat.

Hannibal’s growl is almost feral and he lets Will’s limp body fall back onto the countertop, bracing himself with one hand on either side of Will and fucking him with all that he is. Will shudders weakly in overstimulation as Hannibal keeps hitting his prostate on at least half his thrusts, but lays there pliantly, mind still blank in bliss.

Hannibal grabs Will’s hips and pushes himself in deep, once, twice, and then growls deeply as he fills Will with his seed.

Will hums in satisfaction as he feels Hannibal’s breath against his neck, the sleekness of sweat coating Hannibal’s nose as he pushes his face into Will’s neck. Not putting his full weight on him, Hannibal would never be so impolite, but leaning on him enough that Will knows his legs are almost shaking.

For a minute, neither of them move. Hannibal is still sheathed in him fully, keeping his come where it is supposed to be.

Will lets out a contented sigh. Hannibal presses a tender kiss to the nape of his neck and breathes in deeply.

“This was not how I anticipated events unfolding.”

Will smiled, showing his teeth. “Good.”

* * *

Sleeping with Hannibal is at once an enormous insight into the man’s character and the source of many more questions about the man.

First, of course, was the fact that Hannibal did not push him away. He could have, that first night, after their kiss. Blaming it on the wine, reclaiming his self-control there in the kitchen instead of inviting him back, knowing what their next night would bring.

In his memories, the knife gleams in the light of the counter. Will could have picked it up, turned the cold metal in his hands. He thinks of what would happen, then wonders why he is thinking about this.

The two of them do not stop at one night. Hannibal had offered him an out, after dinner, offering stress and sleeplessness as an excuse.

Will had raised an eyebrow and swiped his tongue across his bottom lip slowly. Hannibal had not said anything else about it.

They eat dinner. They adjourn to the study, discuss music and literature. Hannibal asks him if he would like to stay the night.

When they reach Hannibal’s bedroom, Will pushes him down on the soft satin, relishes the flash of surprise in maroon eyes, and proceeds to suck Hannibal’s brain out through his dick.

Hannibal had lain him on the bed afterwards and eaten him out until Will came, messily, all over his satin bedsheets.

They next morning, Will seated himself upon Hannibal’s cock with a sigh and rode him until he saw stars.

Frankly, Will reflected as he finally arrived home that Saturday, the sex had been amazing. Would continue to be amazing, or so help him. Rough, a little sweet, a little desperate, and above all _raw_.

Just how Will liked it.

Hannibal and he were better matched in the bedroom than Will had expected. He’d been afraid the esteemed socialite would be afraid to experiment or take of the gloves, but he couldn’t have been more wrong if he tried.

The veneer civilization Will now realizes Hannibal constantly wears cracks little by little, the more they fall into bed together. It is a drug; it is dangerous; it is addictive.

Will feels like he’s slowly peeling away Hannibal’s layers, one by one, until the core of him is exposed. Vulnerable. He feels like a predator, fitting right in with the killers in his head, catching a whiff of prey.

Or is he the prey, finally peeling away the sheep’s clothing?

Neither are quite right. It feels more like they are two lions, baring their teeth at each other to prove their worthiness.

* * *

Will _still_ notices things.

He never really stops. His job is reading people, brining dark secrets into the light, and this one was not even that difficult to find.

It is hidden in the way Hannibal’s eyes glint brightly when Will grows bold and cages him against the kitchen counter with both arms, teeth glinting as he closes the distance behind them with a heated kiss.

Another piece falls into place when Will scrapes his nails along Hannibal’s back as the older man fucks into him fast and deep and good, stretching him so wide he is sure to feel it tomorrow. His nails draw blood. Hannibal’s eyes darken, flutter close, and he comes with a groan.

It is hinted at when Hannibal sucks him down slowly, teasingly, licking along his shaft after a long day and three corpses when Will just wants him to _hurry up_. So he fists both his hands in Hannibal’s hair, pulls _hard_ , and starts fucking his mouth without remorse. He wasn’t sure who moaned harder at this point, Hannibal or him.

After he’d filled Hannibal’s mouth with his seed, Will comes back to himself, half-mortified at what he’d done – only to find Hannibal looking at him with reverence, a wet spot in his still-clothed pants.

The final epiphany arrived, ironically, while taking a bath.

 _Eureka_.

Jack had dragged him to Atlanta for a case that might have been the Ripper. A killer who liked to leave his victims with scissors jammed in their genitals and heart. The profile was not that difficult – orphaned child, cut of from their family, taking revenge on any couple who had at one point put away their child, no matter the reason.

It was not the Ripper.

So in the end, it was only two days. But the point was, it was an overnight thing. Only Beverly had accompanied him, which was kind of nice. That night, laying in the simple hotel room, Beverly had convinced him a treat was necessary and given him a bath bomb.

Threatened to check the next day if it had been used.

Will had given in with grace.

The bath was nice and warm. Will had trailed his hands along his skin, half of his mind on his profile of the Ripper, _intelligent surgeon artist,_ the other half on the way Hannibal’s face looked the other day when Will had given in to baser urges and bit Hannibal’s shoulder as the man pounded into him.

And the dots connected.

Will’s eyes flew open, hands gripping the side of the bath.

_Dr. Hannibal Lecter is sexually submissive._

Then;

_Really, the Chesapeake Ripper? A sub?_

Somehow, the first discovery shakes him far more than the second.

Will doesn’t think too long about what that says about him.

The abyss and he are old friends.

(It makes him an attentive lover, he decides. Then sits quietly in the bath for ten full minutes, staring blankly at the wall, wondering about when the word _love_ came into play.)

* * *

“Alana, it is good to see you. Please, do come in.”

Hannibal’s voice resonated clearly through the house, the click of Alana’s heels following the invitation, her softer tone bouncing off the walls.

When Alana stepped into the kitchen, she paused.

“Oh, hi, Will.”

Will smiled at her, clad in casual wear and without his glasses on, a half-empty glass of wine in front of him. Alana had dressed up, he noted; one of her good dresses, a touch of makeup, her sexy heels. Not just confusion, but a flash of disappointment in her eyes as she regarded the unexpected man in the kitchen.

Will kept smiling. “Don’t worry, I will be gone soon.”

“Ah, yes,” Hannibal continued for him, stepping into the kitchen behind Alana and making his way to the heart of the room, of his house. Will smiled at the twitch of Hannibal’s lips. He was sure that if it was Hannibal’s choice, Will would never leave this house. “But first, would you like anything to drink, Alana? I have taken the liberty of selecting one of your preferred beers and cooling it, if you’d like?” Without really waiting for an answer, Hannibal had already taken out a glass.

“Yes, please,” Alana answered, eyes crinkling, before turning towards Will. Excluding swift _hellos_ as they’ve passed each other in the BAU, this is the first time he and Alana talk to each other since the failed kiss.

“And how are you doing, Will?”

Will tipped his head as Hannibal placed a beer in front of the woman, who accepts it gracefully. “Pretty good, actually. Though I am here for a reason,” he added, catching Hannibal’s eyes meaningfully for a short moment.

Alana raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Will leaned slightly backwards. “I’d like to make a request, actually. Or a favour, or however you want to phase it.”

“Go on.”

“I’d like for you to become my official psychiatrist.”

Whatever Alana had been expecting, it was not this. She turned to Hannibal with a questioning gaze.

Hannibal tipped his head. “I have never been Will’s psychiatrist.”

A twitch of Alana’s mouth showed what she thought about that. “Do you think that’s a wise decision, Will?” she asked the curly-haired man with a flash of concern in her eyes. _Worry. Scepticism. Pity_.

_She does not think I am able to make the right decisions about my own mental health._

Will supposed he couldn’t fault her for that – well, maybe a little. He is a functioning adult with empathy issues who surrounds himself with killers, not a maniac sprouting gibberish.

“It is always your right to request a different psychiatrist if the one you are currently seeing does not fit your needs anymore for any reason whatsoever,” Alana recites kindly. She pauses, afterward, but neither men fill up the silence.

“But,” she eventually continues, a little awkwardly, “do you really think I am the best choice for that, Will? After… what happened between us?”

From where Will is standing, he can see how Hannibal’s hand tightens on his own glass of wine, eyes flashing dangerously.

Will cannot help himself. He chuckles wryly, barely biting back his laughter, amusement visible on his face. “That you kissed me, you mean?” he says frankly. Alana’s eyes widen, but she nods.

“No. On your side, you told me decisively that it was not a good idea. On my side, well, let’s just say that won’t be a problem anymore. For sure.”

Alana frowns, cocks her head. Sharp eyes study him carefully. “What do you mean by that?”

Will hides his sly smile behind the rim of his glass. Looks at Hannibal.

Alana follows his gaze, still frowning. Hannibal is at ease, though Will can see the little tells that show his amusement to the world.

The older man scrapes his throat. “Will and I have decided to change the nature of our relationship from friends to romantic partners,” he says smoothly. Confidently.

Alana’s mouth falls open, then snaps shut with force. “Tell me I just did not hear that, Hannibal.”

Hannibal tilts his chin slightly upward and keeps her gaze steadily.

“Hannibal. He is _your patient_.” Alana hisses.

“He has never been my patient. We had merely been having friendly conversations, though Will has come to me recently with concerns about his mental health. Which is why we decided to seek you out.”

“This is _unethical_ , Hannibal, not to mention the power imbalance between the two of you, or the abuse of trust! What are you thinking!” Alana’s voice is louder now, pitched higher.

“I take it that’s a no?” Will cuts in wryly.

Alana turns to him, whole body tense, placing her glass of beer on the counter with force. “If Hannibal has done anything to overstep your boundaries or made you uncomfortable, Will, _anything_ , I am here for you. We can do something about this.”

Will huffs in amusement. “You’re a good person, Alana.” She is. In most cases, her reaction would be the proper one, and probably hitting the mark as well. But Hannibal and him are not most cases.

“But you speak of me as if I have no autonomy in this matter, in our relationship,” and at this Alana swallows thickly while Hannibal smiles predatorily behind her back, “when I would argue that _I_ was the one who seduced Hannibal in the first place.”

Alana’s eyes widen, flitting over his face, looking for tells. Turns back to Hannibal.

Hannibal chuckles warmly, inclining his head towards Will. “Although I do not see myself as a passive partner, or person, in any way, I might just have to admit to the truth in that statement.”

Will smiles back, and for a moment, it is just the two of them.

“I don’t care,” Alana breaks harshly though the silence. “This is _wrong_ and I won’t be any part of this. I don’t even know what to _think_. I thought better of you, Hannibal,” and the look she sends her mentor is piercing.

Hannibal meets her gaze steadily. Will can tell he is a little impressed, though not in the least cowed.

She swallows, takes a breath. “I will be going now. I’ll be sure to see you both later. I am giving you three days to break this news to Jack, or I will.”

Alana catches Will’s eyes, and he can see the concern in them still. He simply nods, in response. She’s being more lenient than they had estimated.

Turning on her heel, Alana exits the kitchen, grabs her coat.

Slams the door behind her.

“Rude,” Hannibal mutters, and Will steps closer to elbow him in the side.

There are no sounds of retreating heels after the door has closed.

Hannibal and Will meet each other’s eyes with a mutual understanding.

They step a little closer to the door.

“Well, we knew that would be hard news for her to take,” Will says carefully.

Hannibal hums. “As I estimated. I will contact Bedelia for you, if you are agreeable.” A pause. “Alana has always been a headstrong woman with strong principles. I respect that about her.”

Will steps even closer, bringing a hand to Hannibal’s cheek, but does not lower his voice as he usually would.

Will sees an opportunity.

“I know how nervous you were about this, darling,” he says clearly. Hannibal raises sceptical eyebrow at the first part of the sentence, while his pupils dilate at the endearment. Surprise, or something else?

“But I’m very proud of you,” Will continues, eyes flickering to the door for just a moment as he feels Hannibal’s jaw work underneath his hand. “I think you deserve a reward for that tonight, don’t you, sweetheart?”

He may be pushing it, but Will doesn’t think so. Hannibal is watching him intently, face completely blank. The kind of blank that says the man did not expect to feel the emotions that are currently running through him, and is therefore unable to choose the right expression to display.

He gives Hannibal a moment.

“Please,” Hannibal eventually responds, far louder than it would be if it was fully candid, but voice too unsteady to make it a complete lie.

The silence that follows is broken by the faint sound of heels clicking, disappearing from behind the door.

Hannibal smiles, meeting Will’s lips in a short kiss. “Let her make something of that,” he murmurs, and Will huffs against his skin. “She really does think of me like a broken doll,” Will responds with only a little disappointment in his voice.

Hannibal does not answer verbally, instead trailing a hand across Will’s cheek. It’s intimate.

Will makes a decision.

Taking Hannibal’s hand and stepping backwards, Will leads them both out of the kitchen slash hallway and towards the study. The desk and chairs are a familiar space, hours of discussion after dinners or case visits, or spend reading together in comfortable silence.

Though Hannibal does not say anything, Will knows he is curious.

When Will gestures for Hannibal to sit in the plush chair, Hannibal sits.

Will smiles.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said you deserved a reward,” the profiler says teasingly, sliding between Hannibal’s half-open legs.

Hannibal’s hands come up to his hips, holding him so that he may not stray to far. “Oh?” the man answers. Will gives a slow and languid kiss in return, which Hannibal returns with enthusiasm.

Will pulls back, hands on the other man’s shoulders, enjoying the dilated pupils and gleaming lips of his partner. He rakes an hand through Hannibal’s carefully styled hair for good measure, to which Hannibal smiles indulgently.

“We have never really talked about who tops,” Will remarks casually. The way Hannibal’s shoulders stiffen is the only indication he is surprised.

“Are you not satisfied with our current arrangement?” Hannibal asks politely.

Will gives him a filthy smirk, trailing his arms along Hannibal’s body as he sinks to his knees on the plush carpet. “I am _very_ satisfied,” nosing Hannibal’s underbelly and hands playing with Hannibal’s belt, “though interested in switching things up.”

He unbuckles the belt, looks up at Hannibal through his lashes. “The question is, sweetheart, are _you_ satisfied?”

Hannibal is watching him openly, studying him as if he is the most fascinating thing the doctor has ever seen. Maybe he is.

Will cocks his head sweetly, feeling comfortable on his knees. Although most people see this as a submissive position, when you are holding another man’s cock in your hands, in your mouth, making him wither with pleasure – well. There is no question who is really holding the reigns.

Hannibal has still not answered. His cock is half-hard, slightly visible underneath the lining of his clothes.

Will takes off the pants carefully, trailing his hands along Hannibal’s inner thigh as he does so.

“I may have thought- No one has ever questioned-” Hannibal falls silent again. When Will looks up, his eyes are troubled.

 _Oh darling,_ Will cannot help but think, _you must have been so hard on yourself. No one worthy enough to slip past your walls, treat you how you deserve to be treated. No one to give you what you need._

Will fills the silence with a kiss to Hannibal’s slowly stirring cock, not pulling of his boxers yet. Instead, his hands stroke softly and playfully along the outside of Hannibal’s cock, while Will looks up again, eyes sharp.

If Hannibal can’t verbalize his thoughts, the profiler will put his empathy to good use.

“You have never done that before, haven’t you?”

Hannibal swallows. Something behind his eyes threatens to shutter closed. “I have experience with penetration on either side of the act,” he states evenly.

“But not with another human being,” Will states confidently.

Hannibal is blank-faced once more. “Sometimes I forget how keen your mind is,” he whispers.

Will hums, nuzzles Hannibal’s groin. “I can picture it,” he says hotly, making sure his arousal at the thought is clear. “Laying on your bed after a particularly hard week, no, month, finally having some time to yourself. Fully naked on your bed, all your lovely muscles and skin on display, your cock curved hard against your stomach.” At his words, he strokes Hannibal through the cloth firmly.

Underneath his hands, the cock starts to thicken fully.

“You play with yourself, one finger, three fingers, even a toy when that is not enough. You are beautiful like that, though you do not know it, for your eyes are always closed. What do you think of, I wonder?”

Slowly, Will hooks his hands behind Hannibal’s boxers, pulling them down. Hannibal lifts his hips to accommodate him. His cock his fully erect, now.

Will wraps a hand around Hannibal’s length and meets maroon eyes. “I would like you to talk to me,” he says, “talk me through what you do and what you feel when you do that. When you penetrate yourself.”

He licks a long stripe up Hannibal’s cock, eyes never leaving the other man’s. “And the better the story, well, the more you turn me on…” another lick. “The more I turn _you_ on.”

He kisses the head of Hannibal’s cock for good measure.

“ _Will_ ,” Hannibal’s voice is strangled. Teetering on the edge.

Baring your darkest secret to another person must be tantalizing. Terrifying. Erotic.

(Somehow, Will does not doubt this little titbit is buried far deeper than Hannibal’s more violent side.)

Will bends forward and takes Hannibal’s cock in his mouth.

Hannibal hums in pleasure as Will starts to bob his head, setting an easy rhythm. Unlike usually, Will does not move his hand at the base of Hannibal’s cock, nor does he tease the head with his tongue.

He moves his head upwards, downwards, slowly, steadily. And waits.

It takes a full minute before Hannibal speaks.

“I do not give in to the urge often,” he starts, as if it is a weakness he cannot help but have. “But when I do, I lock myself in. I take my time.”

Will starts moving his hand in sync with his mouth.

“I take out my best sheets because I like the feeling of them against my skin,” Hannibal continues, voice steady. “I take a shower first, cleaning myself and relaxing my muscles. Cut my nails. When I do this, I have always had a stressful month.”

Will smiles around Hannibal’s cock, letting his tongue drag around the thick vein at the underside.

“I start with two fingers,” Hannibal says, and this time his breath hitches, “never with one. I am generous with lube; it has been quite some time since I last did this, and I treat my body with care.”

When Will looks up, Hannibal’s eyes are closed.

“I scissor myself open slowly, not yet coming near my prostate. I prefer to save that for later, when the discomfort has faded and I can enjoy it fully.”

Will sucks around the head of Hannibal’s cock, once, twice. Hannibal moans softly at the sensation, and Will hums around his erection in his mouth.

“Sometimes, I add a third finger, but sometimes, I do not. It depends on what I want, as does my choice,” a hitch in his breath as Will sinks a little deeper on his cock, not quite deep-throating yet, “my choice of toy.”

Will sinks fully down on Hannibal’s cock in reward, taking him as deep as he can go. Holding his position for a few seconds, feeling the doctor’s length twitch in his mouth, tickling his throat.

Hannibal moans loudly.

“Tonight, I do not use a third finger,” he pants as Will sets a faster rhythm. He can feel the muscles of Hannibal’s stomach clench under his fingers. “I take the blue one. Tonight, I want to feel it.”

Hannibal grasps for breath and Will pulls back a little so he can lavish the head of Hannibal’s cock with attention, his tongue swirling around it dexterously.

“I blindly cover the thing with lube, not wanting to open my eyes for too long.” Hannibal’s voice is raw and brutal. “In my head, I am thinking of other things, and I do not, _ah_ , do not want to disturb that fantasy.”

How Hannibal can still be so verbose, Will does not know. But he is determined to break the composure – not today, no, but soon.

“The press of the toy against my entrance feels cold, but good. I like that it’s just a toy that I control, but I also hate it. I push,” a gasp as Will sucks harshly on his cock. Will tastes pre-come on his tongue. “I push it inside of me in one go, even though it hurts a little. It feels, it feels good, and I know enough of the human body, of my body, that it hits my prostate in one go.”

Hannibal pauses here, clenching his teeth, as Will speeds up even more. One hand is still on the base of Hannibal’s cock, squeezing lightly. The other is playing with his balls.

Almost unconsciously, Hannibal spreads his legs wider.

Will himself is feeling very turned-on as well, but his mind his sharp. He catalogues every single word, every expression on Hannibal’s face. Today, he has a mission.

“It stretches me open, and I set my own rhythm, but in my mind,” Hannibal breaks off, panting loudly. “In my mind,” he moans as Will speeds up even more, as Will removes his hand from Hannibal’s balls and places it lower, even lower, pushing past Hannibal’s perineum.

“In my mind it is not a toy, but,” Will presses his fingers to Hannibal’s rim, not penetrating, but stroking and teasing, touch feather-light.

It is enough.

“ _Will,_ ” Hannibal moans loudly and floods Will’s mouth with come.

Will swallows greedily, sucking enthusiastically around Hannibal’s cock as Hannibal goes boneless in his chair. Will draws out the aftershocks of the orgasm, one finger still rubbing at Hannibal’s rim and tongue still playing with the head of Hannibal’s slowly softening cock.

As Hannibal shudders once more and then whines ever-so-softly, Will pulls back abruptly.

The arousal he had been holding back to keep a clear mind comes back full-force, and his cock has been hard in his pants the whole time. Will unbuckles himself quickly, efficiently, and Hannibal watches him through half-lidded lashes, fully content.

Trusting.

Will groans loudly, stroking himself harshly and quickly, pleasure building within seconds. He has enough control of himself to grunt, “Hannibal, can I, may I-”

“Anything,” Hannibal breathes, and he sounds so honest Will shivers with it.

Will wonders what would happen if he would just turn Hannibal over and take him right here on this chair-

The thought is enough to tip him over the edge, cock spurting long lines of come all over Hannibal’s still clothed upper body. His suit jacked and tie are ruined, and Will takes in the sight like a drowning man stumbling upon land, before collapsing to his knees once more, this time in exhaustion.

His.

He leans his head against Hannibal’s upper thigh, legs still spread widely, and sighs contently, nuzzling his inguinal region and breathing in the smell of arousal greedily.

Then he climbs on Hannibal’s lap, uncaring of the mess.

“Sorry about your clothes,” Will sighs as he seeks Hannibal’s mouth for a kiss. It is slow, and sweet, and Hannibal’s arms close around him.

It might be just him, but Will thinks the other man holds on a little more tightly than usual.

“For you, dear Will,” Hannibal says, and if Will did not know better he would call it besotted, “anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter is already written, another 8.000+ words, and will be up in a few days!  
> 


	2. mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, if you ever do anything like this in real life, use safewords and don't push your partner like this and use a condom and watch out for bacteria and yadayadayada. But this is fiction so, hey. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Two days after their confrontation with Alana, Will is looking through a list of string-shop owners in the area of Baltimore.

Jack was watching patiently as Will stared the possible subjects in the eyes one by one.

“It’s either this one,” putting a finger on Lawrence Leeway, a new face in the area with a capacity for violence hidden in his eyes, “or this one,” resting a finger on Tobias Budge, whose eyes were just cold.

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll check out Leeway, you check out Budge. First impressions only, understand?”

Will nodded obediently.

An hour later, Will stepped outside Budge’s shop – who was definitely their killer – looking outside with a worried look.

He breathes slowly in relief when he sees the noise was real.

There is indeed a wounded dog, though there are already several people around it, worrying, including what seems to be its owner. At the same time, there is a noise from inside the music shop Will knows far too well.

A noise of death.

Five minutes later, he stumbles out of the shop with a ringing in his ears and his gun several bullets emptier.

Ten minutes later, he gets a call from Jack.

Hannibal’s office is a ten-minute drive. Will makes it in five and meets Jack at the door.

“Is Hannibal alright,” he asks as soon as he sees the head of the BAU, eyes wide and hands trembling.

Jack frowns at him. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

There is already police at the scene. Jack walks briskly, but calmly. Will cannot bring himself to the same mindset.

He half-runs past Jack and into Hannibal’s house, nothing but a mantra of _no please not him no please_ in his head. Never mind that he knows Hannibal can hold his own, has killed dozens of people before.

Tobias is a psychopath, an experienced killer. All it takes is one mistake, then Will would have to live without him, would _lose_ him, and-

Will rushes into Hannibal’s office and all the breath leaves his body in one fell swoop.

Hannibal is alive.

He is also coming apart at the seams. The man torn open to reveal the monster underneath.

To Will, it is obvious. Hannibal is leaning against his own desk, his office filled with the corpses of that sweaty patient of his – _I kill him quickly, a broken neck, a simpleton like him not worth anything else_ – and behind that, the bloodied corpse of Tobias Budge.

_I come at him with pure unfiltered rage. I know I should not, but I cannot help myself, and he cannot help but flinch back in instinctual fear as he discovers that for once, he is the prey. I snarl at him, I use my hands, he deserves to die as slowly as possible because he touched what is MINE-_

Time slows as Hannibal looks up. The line of his shoulders is tense, coiled tightly like a predator ready to pounce. The corner of his lips twitch, a supressed urge to show his teeth. The line of his jaw is clenched aggressively, every last thread of control poured towards either not breaking down in tears or not breaking down in violence. Knowing the person underneath Hannibal’s façade, it could only be the latter.

But it is his eyes, the maroon almost crimson in the sunlight, that truly scream how close Hannibal is to losing control.

And then they lock gazes.

“Will,” Hannibal breathes.

They surge forward simultaneously, coming together in a desperate embrace in the centre of the room. Will grabs the lapels of Hannibal’s suit in a tight grip, pressing himself against the older man as he feels Hannibal wrap his hands around him.

For a moment, they just breathe the other in. Will waits an extra beat, allowing Hannibal to pull himself back together.

Around them, the room has fallen silent.

Hannibal is the first one to break the silence. His voice is only a little raw. “I thought you were dead. Tobias told me he killed two men.”

Will pulls back just enough to place his forehead against Hannibal’s, locking their eyes. To his great surprise, the maroon eyes are shining wetly.

“When I heard Tobias had come to your office-” Will breaks off unsteadily.

Hannibal continues as if Will had not spoken. “Not before today I realized how bleak this world would be without you.”

The truthfulness of Hannibal’s words pierces Will deeply, a sword slicing through his heart more effectively than any kind of metal ever would.

He presses his lips to Hannibal’s mouth.

The other man makes a noise in his throat that is held back with unrelenting force, unable to escape. Will feels strangely bereft at the loss of it.

He kisses Will back ferociously.

“ _Gentlemen_.”

Jack’s stern and disapproving voice cuts through their bubble. With a sigh, Hannibal leans back, eyes still on Will.

Will flushes. Bites his lip.

He had forgotten there were any other people in this room.

Stepping back out of Hannibal’s arms, Will does not turn around to face Jack. He keeps his eyes on his partner’s chin instead, feeling strangely ashamed.

The way Hannibal’s jaw sets tells Will enough.

He’ll have to interfere if he does not want there to be another bloodbath. Metaphorically, this time.

Or so he hopes.

“Apologies, Jack,” Will says far too casually as he finally turns around to stare at Jack’s shoulder. He catches Jack’s attention with a twitch of his head towards the two police officers still in the room, who are looking at the three men like they are a soap opera.

“Everyone out.” Jack commands curtly.

The police officers obey swiftly. Jack’s temper is well-known. Well-feared.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jack continues at last, the lasts whisps of relief in his voice quickly replaced by indignation and anger.

“This is a recent development,” Hannibal cuts in smoothly, and his voice is made of steel. “Will and I have decided to turn our _friendly conversations_ ,” and Will feels how Hannibal steps forward until he is standing directly behind Will’s shoulder, “into a relationship.”

“On a unrelated note,” Will interrupts pointedly, “I have recently decided to seek out a psychiatrist once more. Officially. Alana declined, so I am looking into other options.”

Jack’s lips tighten. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying not to shout. “This is not what we agreed upon, Dr. Lecter,” he says sharply, looking Hannibal straight in the eyes.

Hannibal tilts his chin upwards. Narrows his eyes. “We did not _agree_ upon anything, Jack. I cleared Will for field-work when you asked that of me, months ago. Since then, Will and I have never had a patient-psychiatrist relationship. Merely friendly conversations. Sometimes, friends turn into something more,” a sliver of possessiveness threads itself through his words, “which I think we can all agree is a wonderful thing.”

Jack clenches his jaw. “That does not give you any right-”

“Please,” Will scoffs derisively, cutting in. “You can’t ask Hannibal to do things under the table so he can give you updates on my mental health, which is a completely unethical thing for an employer to ask, and then get back on your white horse as soon as it becomes convenient for you.”

This time, Will meets Jack’s gaze squarely. Hannibal’s presence behind him emboldens him. Gives him strength.

He has something to fight for, now.

Jack breathes deeply through his nose. His lips twitch. “I only want what is the best for you, Will.”

 _…as long as it makes me close cases,_ Will adds mentally.

It has always been like this. Will is quick, and efficient, and catches killers _fast_. Jack could also do it the old-fashioned way; his solving rate before Will had been plenty high. But once you have the best of the best, you don’t want to lose it. No matter how battered the tool becomes.

Jack is not cold, or inhuman. His heart goes out to the victims, the families left behind, the innocents.

Not to Will.

“This is good for me,” he insists, keeping the sudden swell of anger out of his voice. It won’t do any good. “It is my choice, and Hannibal makes me happy. So either accept it, or don’t, I don’t care. As long as you deal with it, because we’re not going to call it quits.”

Hannibal presses himself ever-so closer to Will’s body, and Will finds himself leaning back.

It’s true, he realizes as he has uttered the words. Hannibal does make him happy.

Huh.

Jack studies the both of them intently for a moment.

“If you say so, Will,” he eventually admits, though he does not sound completely convinced. “You’re a grown-ass man, you can make your own decisions.”

 _That’s a first,_ Will thinks sceptically.

“As long as it does not interfere with your work, for either of you,” and this time Jack’s eyes flicker towards Hannibal as well, who it watching him guardedly “I do not see any reason to object.”

_Of course. And thank you kindly for your permission._

Then Jack turns around, deeming the subject closed, and throws his hands in the air.

“Now, tell me; what the hell just happened here?”

* * *

After Will has made his two discoveries, Hannibal’s inclinations and Hannibal’s _inclinations,_ there is actually very little about his life that changes.

He doesn’t tell Jack. Or Hannibal.

Though he imagines telling Jack the _inclinations_ deduction with uttermost seriousness and cannot help but laugh. If nothing else, it would make Hannibal less of a suspect.

But he does not. Will does not breathe a single word about what he now knows.

(Except for his dogs, whispering late at night as he comes home from Atlanta, shaking. He is ashamed, and afraid, not about what Hannibal has done, but of his own lack of disgust and anger.)

But for the first time in a long while, it is Will who holds the cards. The control.

It is a pleasant feeling.

He might get used to it.

Jack calls him late at night, a full week after Tobias Budge. Another victim, and it’s the Ripper. This time, Jack is sure.

The corpse Jack takes him to is indeed the Ripper, killed last night, when Will had been home. Will thinks it’s easier for Hannibal to slip out at night when there is no one laying next to him, as there so often is these days.

Will has spend quite some time getting into the Chesapeake Ripper’s head. He spends even more time getting into Hannibal’s.

Now that he knows they are both the same, the crime scene is simply… _beautiful_.

(For a beat, Will waits for another emotion to rise up, now that he knows. Disgust, maybe, or revulsion. Anger. Betrayal. The hands that caused this have known him most intimately.

It doesn’t come.)

The body is strung up between the trees, countless red strings holding it upright, a life-like puppet on strings. Helpless to move against that which has caught him completely. The dead man is outwardly intact, except for all the little holes where the strings have hooked into his skin, little pools of darkened crimson littered across his body.

The corpse down on his knees and his face is turned towards the heavens. Will walks forward until he is standing right in front of the corpse. From this angle, he meets the dead man’s eyes exactly.

There is a smile on the dead man’s face.

“Any organs missing?” Will asks before he lets the pendulum swing.

“The heart,” Jack answers curly, and Will falls.

* * *

When Hannibal, pulling the main dish out of the oven, asks about the crime scene, Will ignores the way Hannibal’s hands are positioned near the knife rack.

“It was intense,” Will answers instead. “It still feels like I’m there.” It doesn’t.

Hannibal hums in what could have been sympathy.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Heart,” Hannibal says, eyes smouldering, “of a particularly lucky pig. Served with taro root, roasted sunchoke and basil.”

 _Oh,_ Will thinks, _not trophies at all._ Another piece falls into place.

Will has to turn around lest Hannibal sees the sudden warm and giddy smile emerge on his face, out-of-place for such a mundane declaration.

He debates making his move now, but refrains. Will has always suspected that dinner is an important ritual for the psychiatrist, and what he has recently learned has only confirmed that.

Dinner is delicious. Will makes sure to savour every bite of the heart, watching Hannibal watching him.

It is the most intimate dinner he has ever eaten.

When he helps put their main course away, Will is surprised to see there is no desert ready. The kitchen counters are empty.

“Deviating from the norm?” he asks his boyfriend. Just thinking the word brings a smile to his face. Happy. Hannibal, _boyfriend_.

His.

“I was thinking about suggesting a more unconventional form of desert,” Hannibal answers with a smile, tilting his head just so.

He really is beautiful.

“You really are beautiful,” Will cannot help but sigh, stepping closer and bringing his hand up towards Hannibal’s hair, stroking softly.

It’s not sexual. It is just a need to touch, to bring their bodies closer together, to bring their physical forms as close together as their mental forms.

Hannibal stills. Watches as Will, for the first time, initiates this casual intimacy.

Will does not fail to catch the way Hannibal’s pupils dilate. The older man blinks twice in quick succession.

And Will sees.

“This is not uncomfortable for you,” he muses aloud, insight flowing in to him all at once, like he is at a crime scene. “Just unfamiliar. You are not used to letting people close, allowing someone to do this for you. To care for you.”

Hannibal opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, watching Will with fascination.

“Your former affairs: they were never more than that. You took the lead. They let you; they liked that about you. It fit with how you present yourself; the eccentric surgeon who is the undefeated master in his field. The bachelor king at the opera, holding court as the ladies flutter their eyes to catch your attention. The well-respected psychiatrist, allowing a student a closer glimpse.”

Will can see the image come to life in front of his eyes. “But it means nothing to you. It pleases you, yes, that your disguise works so well, that no one can see behind the mask to the monster behind it, and then again the man behind that.” Hannibal’s hands twitch at his side. “You go through the motions with them, caring for them, pleasing them. No doubt every one of your former partners would describe you as a gentle and generous lover, whom they would be happy to tumble with again.”

“I,” Hannibal begins, then simply does not have an end to the sentence. He looks confused by his own lack of eloquence.

Will cocks his head, narrows his eyes. “But it’s not you. Never was. They could not see through the masks, and you would not have let them, because they were not worthy. Dull.” _Pigs,_ he suddenly thinks with clarity.

Hannibal’s nostrils flare.

“It must have been lonely,” Will whispers, the final puzzle piece falling into place, “until me.”

“Until you,” Hannibal repeats breathlessly.

There is a moment of silence.

Will waits.

“I have not yet had the experience of someone who can read me as well as you do,” Hannibal says, finally. “Your empathy and quick mind are exhilarating.”

He swallows thickly. “You do not realize what you do to me, Will. How you changed me. Bring out parts of me that I thought would never see the light of day. I do not know whether to come closer or turn away entirely.”

Will cocks an eyebrow. “Afraid?” he taunts.

“Of what I’d do for you. To you. What I’d do to keep you,” Hannibal admits. His voice is steady, but his throat works, tendons standing out stark against his skin. A prayer.

“I’d like you to stay with me, Will.”

“Where else would I go?”

Hannibal closes his eyes briefly. “Will.”

“I mean it. Hannibal,” Will says like a command, and his lover meets his eyes squarely.

Will steps forward, holding Hannibal’s gaze. Their bodies are touching. Maroon eyes flicker to his lips.

Slowly, Will brings one finger forward. Brushes along the edge of Hannibal’s chin.

“Would you do anything for me, if I asked?” Will asks.

“Yes,” Hannibal answers, without hesitation. Will feels, rather than sees, the way Hannibal’s whole body responds to his touch. The only other human being in a sea of pigs. An equal.

“Would you kill for me?”

“Yes,” Hannibal whispers, eyes darkening.

Will is not done. He angles closer, lips almost brushing. “Would you die for me?”

A beat. “Yes.” It is barely audible.

Will presses his body closer, angles his hips forward. Hannibal’s hardness presses into his thigh through the fabric of his pants, erection matching Will’s own. They shudder as their cocks brush through so many layers of cloth.

Will moves in for the kill. “Would you kneel for me?”

Hannibal freezes. Closes his eyes. An involuntary sound escapes his lips, and Will knows that in this moment, he has come closer to the truth of what Hannibal is than anyone has ever come before.

Will waits, patiently, cataloguing every minute twitch on Hannibal’s face, every aborted movement of his fingers.

“Yes,” Hannibal confesses hoarsely and does.

The sight of Hannibal dropping to his knees, eyes still halfway closed and cock tenting through his pants, sets something alight in Will he did not know existed within him.

Will unbuckles his pants quickly, messily, until his erection is freed, standing tall and proud in front of his lover’s face. Hannibal keeps his eyes closed, visibly controlling himself, even as he breathes in deeply.

“What do you want, Hannibal?” Will makes sure to pronounce each word clearly, slowly, timing it so it matches the playful movement of his hand on his cock.

“You.”

“Be more specific.”

Hannibal swallows. His brow furrows. “Please use my mouth.”

“Good boy,” Will says simply, and grabs Hannibal’s hair with both hands.

Hannibal opens his mouth obediently.

Will silences his inner sceptic with force, pushing away all his doubts, and acts with all the certainty his empathy has gifted him with.

He pulls Hannibal toward him and slides into the hot wet heath of his mouth in one go, forcing himself all the way in until he hits the back of Hannibal’s throat and Hannibal’s nose is buried in his groin.

Hannibal gives him a full-body shudder as he makes a surprised chocking noise. His tongue is stroking the underside of Will’s shaft as best as he can. There is a moan trying to force itself out of Hannibal’s throat, but it is blocked by Will’s cock.

“Hold it,” he commands the kneeling man sharply, and forces himself to stop moving. Hannibal looks beautiful like this, raw, throat constricting for a few long seconds as he struggles to get his body’s instinctive reactions under control.

Will smiles at him, wolfish, predatory. Hannibal looks perfect on his knees like this, his mouth a velvet warmth around Will’s cock. “You look so good like this,” Will murmurs, “on your knees, obedient and sweet.”

Hannibal’s eyes are open, his pupils are blown wide. As Will’s mouth falls open, he inches forward just a little bit more, pushes just a little deeper. Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed once more. His hands scramble desperately towards his own belt.

Will pulls back as harshly as he pushed in, pulling Hannibal’s head back swiftly, making sure to cushion the blow against the tabletop counter with the back of his own hands.

Hannibal stills, mouth still open, looking up at him in confused surprise.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” Will says lightly but with an undercurrent of steel in his voice. He tightens his hands in Hannibal’s hair, until the pull is just on the wrong side of painful.

Something shifts then, in Hannibal’s eyes, like a balancing act finally toppling over. His mouth slackens once more, his eyes go half-lidded, and the last of the tension in his body relaxes.

“Apologies,” the doctor chokes out, trying for even but missing it by more than half a mark. Hannibal’s breath is coming quicker, chest rising and falling, even as his hands flatten themselves against his upper legs.

“So polite,” Will muses, and his mind is whirring. “Always completely in control, aren’t you, Hannibal? It must be a daunting prospect to be commanded to give it up – terrifying, even.”

Hannibal licks his lips. “Erotic,” he adds, body taut with need. “Exhilarating.”

Will smiles. Tilts his hips forward, just a little, trails the head of his cock around Hannibal’s lips, his cheek, his chin.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Never.” The answer makes arousal flare hot and bright in Will’s gut.

“You never trusted anyone,” Will fills the silence, and the last tips of the veil around Hannibal lift completely, leaving the man bare before his eyes. “No. It’s more than that. You never found anyone worthy of the honour. They were all beneath you – simpletons, too wrapped up in their own heads to appreciate the beauty that you saw in the world. No one that could be your equal.”

Hannibal’s eyes are glistening with something Will cannot name. His own throat is dry, words drifting upwards from where his and Hannibal’s minds meet.

“And now you have me. Or,” he smirks, “to be precise, now I have you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hannibal breathes wantonly. His tongue flickers out to wet his lips.

Will breathes out through his nose and tilts his chin up, considering. “I’ll let you free yourself, but you cannot touch your cock until I say so.”

Hannibal does not answer except but to follow his instructions, dexterous hands slowly untying his belt, unzipping himself and pulling his pants and underwear down with his hands at his hips. Uncharacteristically, Hannibal leaves both items halfway down his legs, kneeling back on them without prompting.

“Good boy,” Will repeats himself. “I’m very proud of you,” and pushes his cock back in.

This time, sets a rhythm, and Hannibal’s moan tears itself free and resonates around his cock. Will’s breath hitches in return.

“You are made to suck cock,” Will breathes, taking in the sight of Hannibal’s hollowed cheeks and spit-covered chin. “You look breathtakingly delicious. You’ll look even better split open with my cock.” Hannibal shudders in delight, trying to open his mouth even wider.

Will brings a hand to his lover’s lips, trailing the soft pink skin teasingly. It’s smooth like this, stretched wide and slippery with salvia. “I’ll open you up for me, darling, nice and good, and fuck you like you’ve been waiting for, all these years. Until you can’t remember what it’s like to have your legs closed.”

Hannibal moans. Looks up at him through his lashes, the picture of sin. Will wants to never let him go.

But he is careful. Will does not lose control. Does not lose his sense of self, of being here, more tethered to reality than he’s ever been.

Somehow, like this, the hundreds of killers in his head are quiet. There is nothing on his mind but to how best treat and please his lover, and it makes him feel more sane than he has in ages.

The biggest predator of them all is in the room with him. Submitting to him. There is nothing left to fear.

“You never have sex in the kitchen, do you?” Will says conversationally as he sees one of Hannibal’s hands twitch where they lay on his knees. “I’m sure you take all your lovers upstairs, to the soft silken sheets – never in the dining room, or study, and most of all, never in the kitchen.”

Hannibal groans at one particularly hard thrust, lips stretched so prettily around his cock. He’s thinking about their first time, Will bend over this very counter. He’s thinking about the blowjob Will gave him in the study. He’s thinking about how he fucked Will bend over the dining room two weeks ago, dessert only just finished before he could not contain himself anymore.

Maroon eyes are burning dazedly.

“They think you finally let them into your inner sanctum, the most precious place in your house. But that’s not your bedroom.” Now to think of it, Hannibal probably has some secret murder room stashed away somewhere.

“Not by far.”

Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed. His hands relax on his legs. To all appearances, he has become completely pliant, if not for the way his tongue is now doing its best to lavish Will’s cock with attention.

Will pushes himself completely in again, cutting off Hannibal’s air supply. His reasons are twofold – first, he needs to catch a break before he finishes this too early, for Hannibal’s tongue is the most sinuous part of all of him. Second, he enjoys the way Hannibal does not struggle beneath him at all, even as his throat relexify constricts for air.

If he wanted to, he could kill Hannibal right now. Literally choke him on his cock.

Will finds the thought far too erotic.

“I know better,” he says, and pulls away just as Hannibal’s gaze starts to unfocus, the faintest tint of blue creeping up his neck.

“Will,” Hannibal raps, and it is as close as a plea as it ever comes.

Before he can say much more, Will pushes his cock inside Hannibal’s waiting mouth again, though much more gently than before. He moves his hips slowly, dragging the head of his cock across Hannibal’s tongue, admiring the way Hannibal tilts his head to accommodate him.

“You do deserve a reward,” Will muses, and nudges a foot between Hannibal’s knees.

They open immediately, falling to the side as much as they can, and Will pushes his foot forward until the tip of Hannibal’s cock is almost brushing against his pant leg.

“You may move your hips and bring yourself off,” Will graciously allows.

Hannibal moans wantonly in response. His hips start to move greedily, muscles flexing in the dim light of the kitchen. The little bit of friction must be torture, as Hannibal makes another noise that could be interpreted as both pain and pleasure. It vibrates through Will’s body, making his toes curl.

“Good,” he praises. “Now let me use you.”

“Please,” Hannibal begs quietly, a rush of air around his cock.

Will smiles victoriously. Discards most of his rational thoughts, pulls Hannibal’s head closer, and starts fucking his mouth in earnest.

No thought to Hannibal’s comfort or pleasure. This is about him, taking. Hannibal, giving, freely.

The noises Hannibal makes intertwine with Will’s own moans and gasps until he is not sure which noises come from who. It doesn’t take long, for neither of them.

Hannibal snaps his hips forward, hands still on his legs. Just a few brushes of his cock against Will’s leg combined with how deep Will is fucking his throat is enough to make him come, sucking on Will’s length like he is made for it.

The full-body shudder and the expression of bliss on Hannibal’s face is enough for Will to follow his lover over the edge.

Hannibal does not let a drop go to waste.

Will staggers back afterwards, the small noise of loss that escapes Hannibal’s throat sending a new shudder or arousal through him.

_This was not the plan._

Will can’t find a single part of him that regrets it, however, as he looks at the mess that is now Hannibal Lecter.

The doctor’s eyes are still closed, leaning back bonelessly against the kitchen counter, the kitchen tiles in front of him a mess.

Will debates cutting it off now – the sane thing to do was to hold Hannibal close, reassure him, clean him and help him come down. Aftercare, basically, though Will knows Hannibal had not let go of his control entirely.

Neither him nor Hannibal could arguably be called sane.

This, Will knows, is a chance. Hannibal is off-kilter now, surprised by Will’s actions and his own desire, his own reaction to it. After confessing his love through macabre art and admitted how far he would go for Will.

Will knows that if Hannibal comes down, starts thinking this through thoroughly when the hormones have faded, he’ll come to enough conclusions that it will take the ball out of Will’s court.

The Chesapeake Ripper cannot allow himself to take risks.

If Will wants to do this, if he really wants to court the truth of Hannibal – from the cultured opera lover to the cannibalistic serial killer – he has to play dirty.

If he does not act now, there is a chance Hannibal will be lost to him.

(This was not the plan. Will is good at improvising.)

These thoughts race through his head, and it is barely a few seconds after he came into Hannibal’s mouth that Will makes him decision.

“Stand up,” Will says softly, bending down to help Hannibal pull his pants up, “and go upstairs.”

It’s a testament to how much Hannibal has been shaken by their encounter that he simply rises on his feet and follows Will to his bedroom.

* * *

When Will was a young boy, his father brought him out to the docks. Had cautioned the young boy to watch out for the waves, strong and forceful that day as the wind blew harshly across their skin. Will’s father had shown him around for a while, shown him boats and smiling workman and fish with crimson spots between their scales, but Will’s eyes had strayed to the sea.

Eventually, when Will’s father was busying brokering a deal, Will slipped away. Approach the shore, the stony beach pressing harsh against the flimsy shoes he wore mid-spring. The sun had been harsh against his skin, the wind even more unforgiving.

In contrast, the water looked inviting. Welcoming. Slowly, Will had walked forward, until he was waist-deep in the water, surrounded by the cold. Blissful. Peaceful.

Then the first wave had hit.

The force of it nearly threw him over, but he kept himself standing with surprising strength. Another wave had come, afterwards, even stronger. But Will was prepared this time, welcomed the challenge, and stayed steady on his own two feet.

He had stood there for over ten minutes, bearing wave after wave that tried to break his centre, his sense of self. None succeeded.

For a young boy so often lost within the minds of others, there, in the arms of the unending and unforgiving sea trying to take him apart, Will felt more sure of himself than he had felt in ages.

Now, Will feels like he is standing in the water once again, the waves hitting him stronger than ever before. Each step he makes with Hannibal, each secret he digs out of the deep dark pit that is his lover’s soul pushes against him like the unrelentless tide, threatening to push him over and sweet him away.

But his feet are steady and his back is straight. Once again, Will feels more sure of himself than he has in years.

As Hannibal and Will walk up the stairs of Hannibal’s home, Will thinks amusedly that Hannibal must currently be feeling the exact opposite way.

Even this short journey is enough for Hannibal to regain _some_ of his composure, though. Will makes sure to murmur something about aftercare as he ascends the stairs. He has plans.

When they arrive at the master bedroom, Will guides Hannibal to lay down on the soft sheets.

For a moment, Hannibal looks at Will in indecision. For a moment, Will can see the doubt in Hannibal’s eyes, the scars from ages past rearing their heads, the inner sceptic and ruthless utilitarianist warring with Hannibal’s love for Will and his innermost desire of being _seen_.

“Lay down, darling,” Will says softly, trailing a hand along Hannibal’s cheek once more.

Hannibal lays down.

Will presses a kiss to soft lips, and Hannibal’s eyes slide close, body still recovering from its experience.

Will turns around to hide his look of triumph and heads swiftly to the closet. Looks around calculatingly. Takes only what he needs.

Dropping the items on the floor next to the bed, hidden from Hannibal’s view, Will climbs on the bed and seats himself on top.

Hannibal’s opens his eyes and looks at him with such affection, such _love_ , that Will’s breath stutters in his chest.

He gives Hannibal a tender smile in return and starts stripping off his shirt.

_Don’t let your guard down, Will. The fight is won, but the war is not over yet._

Will rids himself off his clothes swiftly, then turns to do the same to Hannibal. It’s clear from Hannibal’s body language that he expects Will to tuck them both in, to recover from this ordeal with a mid-afternoon nap.

Will has other plans.

“I will ask you to do one more thing for me, my Hannibal,” Will murmurs as he trails kisses along Hannibal’s chest, nipping every now and then at soft skin, feeling Hannibal shudder in pleasure beneath him.

“Anything,” Hannibal breathes, and by God does he sound like he means it.

Will rises up, nymphlike, one leg teasing Hannibal’s cock which twitches in tired interest, one hand inching closer until it is splayed casually around the base of Hannibal’s throat.

Hannibal tenses, ever so slightly. Visibly forces himself to relax again.

His eyes are weary.

Will rewards him with a kiss, to which Hannibal responds greedily. They take a moment savouring it, Will tasting himself on Hannibal’s tongue.

He pulls back with only a little bit of regret. “I’m asking you to trust me,” he says, and watches Hannibal’s eyes tighten.

He’s recovering his control quicker than Will estimated. Then again, he should have known better than to underestimate Hannibal’s self-control.

Will smiles seductively, and the older man’s eyebrow raises in an unspoken question.

“Your control is breath-taking, your composure admirable. But I want all of you, Hannibal, not just what you show the world. I want your strength,” a kiss, “your cruelty,” a bite, “your vulnerability.”

“Let me tie you down, here, in your bed,” Will whispers in his ear as his leg rubs against Hannibal’s cock. “Let me inside of you, so that I can make you mine as you have made me yours,” pulling back so he can look into Hannibal’s eyes.

His face is set in stone. His eyes are unreadable.

“Let me take care of you,” Will continues tenderly. Takes a breath.

Puts all of his love into the next four words.

“Let me _see_ you,” Will finishes and something in Hannibal’s eyes shatters.

Hannibal’s mask breaks, and his expression flickers through so many emotions Will cannot keep track of them all. Elation, despair, heartache, love, reverence, fear, trust – until it settles on a bone-deep longing.

“ _Please,”_ Hannibal whispers.

(And falls.)

Will rewards his vulnerability with another kiss, pouring all of his feelings into it, feeling Hannibal return it with desperation. Will feels his own cock slowly harden once more, the sensations and emotions too much for his body not to react.

“Thank you,” he says against Hannibal’s lips and pulls back with reluctance, not wanting to let go of his lover.

The other man has closed his eyes and does not open them even as Will rises shortly from the bed to get his earlier findings. Two sturdy leather belts and two silken scarves, not perfect but suitable for their purpose.

This will be his design.

Will first ties the soft cloth around both of Hannibal’s wrists, making sure it covers enough skin and is not too tight. He then covers the scarves with the belts, made from far sturdier material, and long enough to loop around the bed’s headframe.

It’s almost as if the bed is made for it.

Hannibal is completely pliant beneath him, shifting accommodatingly whenever Will urges him to. There are no words exchanged between them; none come close to describe the significance of this moment.

Eventually, Will is done.

It is only after Will sits back on the bed that Hannibal opens his eyes once more. He’s still there, mentally; the earlier detachment has vanished, and the sharp glint of intelligence and awareness in his eyes has returned.

Hannibal tests his restraints one by one, first a soft tug, then a harder one. He won’t get out of this, not quickly; with enough effort a man of Hannibal’s strength will eventually be able to free himself. But if Will would decide to kill him now, he would be powerless to stop it.

Will sees the realization settle in Hannibal’s eyes.

“Would you like me to tie your legs down as well?” Will asks.

Hannibal nods, then shakes his head, then just looks at him helplessly.

“Then I won’t. I want you to enjoy this. Next time, I’ll tie your legs down as well,” Will says as he licks a slow stripe up from Hannibal’s belly to his left nipple. The man shivers in response.

If Hannibal had been given more time to recover, if he had just an inch more suspicion Will knew about his darker side already, the good doctor would have never allowed this to happen.

Will would feel guilty, if not for the fact that this man has manipulated him into far worse.

Still.

“You okay?” he asks his lover softly, eyes on Hannibal’s face.

Hannibal nods, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes follow Will as the younger man leans forward.

Will bends over to the bedside cabinet, pulls open a drawer, then two. He sees a scalpel, and pulls it on the bedside table. The bottle of lube goes next, warm and familiar in his hands.

It’s emptier than he remembers.

Will shivers in delight. “Have you been playing with yourself when I was away?” he asks, eyes dancing.

Hannibal tenses, bites his lip. Will shoots him a reassuring smile. “I’m happy to hear that, sweetheart. You deserve to treat yourself. And tonight, I’ll give you what you really need.”

Hannibal whines softly, though the line of his shoulders is still taut. Will moves forward, trailing his hands over Hannibal’s abs.

“If it’s too much, tell me,” he commands, picking up the scalpel and putting it in Hannibal’s line of vision. “I can set you free with this… If you beg nicely, of course.”

He pauses. Smiles mischievously. Moves slowly, carefully, until the dull edge of the blade is touching the soft underside of Hannibal’s stomach.

“Or do you see other uses? You want me to mark you, baby?”

Hannibal’s breath catches. He does not answer. He does not need to.

Will cocks his head. “Maybe later,” he says and puts the scalpel back where it belongs.

“First, you deserve a reward,” he breathes and crawls downwards so he can envelop Hannibal’s cock with his mouth.

The hot length feels familiar on his tongue, slowly hardening once more under this onslaught of sensations. He feels Hannibal twitch against his restraints, not to get out of them but more to feel them, and Will takes pleasure in the knowledge.

He does not tease Hannibal long. Hannibal thickens in his mouth, under his ministrations, Will experienced enough that he knows just what Hannibal likes. This time Will lets his teeth trail along the soft underside of Hannibal’s cock, who shivers in delight.

Will pulls back with a grin. Grabs a pillow, and tilts Hannibal’s hips up so he can place it under him.

Trails his hands around muscled tights, fantasising shorty about the idea of Hannibal strangling Will with them as Will sucks his cock.

Maybe later.

Pulling Hannibal’s legs apart with force, Will settles between them once more. Only this time, he goes lower.

Hannibal’s soft _oh_ of surprise is music to his ears as Will licks at his hole, trailing his tongue around the puckered entrance, clenching and unclenching in need. He laps enthusiastically at the rim, teasing the tip of is tongue inside for just a little, making Hannibal’s thighs quiver. He kisses the skin around Hannibal’s entrance, slicking it with spit as his hands creep upwards and join his tongue to tease.

Pulling back, Will grabs for the lube that he put next to him on the bed, and seeks out Hannibal’s gaze once more.

Hannibal’s mouth is slack, open wide, and Will suppresses the urge to push his cock inside it once more. Hannibal is made to suck cock.

He pours a generous amount of lube on his fingers and brings them to Hannibal’s entrance once more, the other hand holding his partner’s thigh in a strong grip.

“You want me inside of you, darling? Take me bare?” Will did not need his empathy to know neither of them wanted any kind of barrier between them right now. “Want me to fill you up, claim you, give you what you need?”

“ _Please_ ,” Hannibal gasps, eyes scrunched closed and cheeks slightly reddened. His arms are bound over his head, and he has never looked more beautiful.

“You’re so good, baby, so good for me,” Will soothes, leaning forward between Hannibal’s thighs as a single finger pushes in abruptly.

Will remembers Hannibal’s fantasy, that day in the study, Will on his knees and Hannibal grasping in his chair.

“You take my fingers so nicely,” the words falling out of him like a force of nature, as Will pushes a second finger in. It goes in smoothly, and Hannibal groans, eyes still closed. “Did you finger yourself yesterday, when I was not here? Did you think about me, about my cock filling you up, my body pressing into yours?”

Hannibal finally opens his eyes, though they threaten to flutter close once more as Will crooks his fingers to press into Hannibal’s prostate. “I did,” Hannibal pants, “I took my- I thought about-”

It is rare that Hannibal’s thought processes collide verbally. Will feels a possessive sort of pride spread though his chest.

 _Mine_.

Will keeps his eyes on Hannibal’s face, cataloguing every expression as he scissors his fingers, pushing in and out slowly. He stretches Hannibal carefully, but does not take as much time as he could. He can still remember Hannibal’s fantasy, _I want to feel it_.

“I think you’re ready for me, don’t you think so, baby?”

Hannibal’s eyes open wide, a detached look on his face, as if his mind is floating far away, only barely tethered to his body. Will’s gaze is steady. Hannibal moans.

“And even if you do not think so,” Will says cockily as he leans backward to coat himself liberally with lube, wiping the excess fluid up with his fingers and stroking it on and around Hannibal’s clenching hole, “I will fuck you anyway. Because you are not making the decisions right now, darling. I am.”

Will moves forward, draping his weight over Hannibal’s prone body, whose arms are twitching helplessly against the restraints. “And you know why?”

With one hand, he takes his cock and teases the head against Hannibal’s entrance. His hole is clenching helplessly, almost as if he wants to pull Will inside of him by force. Will shiver, and bites his own lip harshly. The shock of pain is enough to keep himself level-headed. A single drop of blood swells up under his tongue, and Will tastes copper. Hannibal's eyes zoom in on the drop of red.

Will braces his other arm next to Hannibal’s head, bringing their faces close.

“Look at me,” he commands. With a shiver, Hannibal obeys. His eyes are glinstering wet.

“You have so many titles, so many roles you play,” Will breathes against Hannibal's lips. The older man lets his lips fall open, eyes hazy, but behind the lust there is still asharpness that indicates Hannibal is not completely gone.

“Doctor,” Will says casually, “M.D.. Eligible bachelor,” he smirks, “even Count.”

Hannibal watches him steadily.

“And more,” Will continues, and angles his hips ever so slightly forward so the head of his cock catches on Hannibal’s rim, making his lover’s breath hitch.

“The Copycat." Hannibal freezes. "The Chesapeake Ripper.” His whole body tenses.

Will pushes his cockhead against Hannibal's enterance, now clenched tightly.

“But the most important one,” Will breathes, trembling and victorious, “is that you are _mine_.”

The last word is a growl as Will pushes himself inside with one forceful thrust.

Hannibal throws his head back and _keens_ , the sound heady and desperate in the silence of the room. Will groans loudly as his head falls forward against Hannibal’s bared neck, which Will immediately latches on to, sucking and biting as his hips stutter, forcing himself as deep into Hannibal’s body as he’s able to.

Hannibal is so _tight_ , delicously strong muscles clamping around him, the insinctive reaction to _fight_ ebbing away as his body relaxes and finally, the whole of Hannibal Lecter submits.

Will does not hold still for more than a second, bringing both his arms upwards to place them on Hannibal’s upper biceps, which are straining against the restraints.

"You feel so good around me, baby, so good."

Then Will starts fucking Hannibal in earnest.

“You,” he snarls as Hannibal’s head snaps forward once more and watches him dazedly, reverently. “Your crime scene today, it was beautiful,” Hannibal sobs dryly as Will snaps his hips forward at the same time. Thinking back on his deductions, after the pendulum had swung.

_The Ripper’s in love, and he feels helpless, tugged along by forces he cannot understand, no longer completely in control._

“I love you too, Hannibal,” Will says shakily and catches Hannibal’s lips in a filthy kiss. “I’m glad you never did this with another man. If you did, I would be compelled to find them, and kill them.”

Hannibal moans around him, broken little sounds as Will shifts his hips until he finds the spot that makes Hannibal whine in pleasure. Hannibal is so warm around him, so hot and tight, pressing around him at all angles until Will feels like he is drowning inside of him. His balls tighten.

It feels like heaven. Will never wants to stop.

When Will pulls back, he is surprised to see Hannibal’s eyes filled with tears. He is so lovely, so vulnerable, that Will cannot help but slow down to a more easy rhythm, enjoying the slow drag of his cock in and out of Hannibal’s body.

“You’re doing so well,” Will whispers, and strokes his thumb along Hannibal’s cheeks, swiping away the sole tear that has fallen. Brings his wet thumb to his own mouth, savouring the taste.

“Will,” Hannibal chokes in return, but he does not need to say anything more.

“It’s okay, Hannibal,” Will says lovingly. “I’ve got you. I see you. It’s safe. You can let go.”

And so Hannibal does.

Finally, finally, Hannibal’s body goes completely lax. His arms fall downwards, held upwards only by the restraints. His legs go pliant, still spread open obediently for Will’s body and cock, and the line of his shoulders relaxes.

The lines at the edge of Hannibal’s eyes disappear. The tears fall. His expression turns into pure and sweet bliss. “Please,” he gasps, “please, yes, please, Will, more-”

Will inches back slightly, pressing his thumb inside of Hannibal’s mouth, looking at the body underneath him. The curve of Hannibal’s cock, leaking pre-come, hot and red against his stomach.

Soft and pliant. Ready for Will to use as he sees fit, for his own pleasure, whatever that may be.

“ _Mine_ ,” Will growls once more, forces Hannibal’s head to the side with his thumb, the other hand coming up until it’s circling Hannibal’s neck and pressing in forcefully.

“ _Yesss_ ,” Hannibal hisses and shivers.

So Will starts fucking Hannibal with all he has.

It does not take long after that. Hannibal is so obedient, so good, and Will hears himself growl this and more as he pounds into Hannibal’s ass. Possessiveness is rushing through him like a wild river, setting his nerves alight, and it feels as if he and Hannibal are one.

One moment, he feels Hannibal moan and wither desperately beneath him, until his whole body goes lax, and wetness pools between their bellies, making Will moan in satisfaction.

Three thrusts later blood is rushing in his ears and his whole body is convulsing, spending his seed deep in Hannibal’s ass. Will snarls loudly as he comes, pressing forward until his teeth are in Hannibal’s shoulder, marking him deeply as Hannibal mewls weakly underneath him.

Will stays seated deep as he comes down from his own high, exhilarating in the feeling of his own seamen in Hannibal’s body.

“We need to get some kind of plug,” he muses against Hannibal’s neck, “so I can keep my seed inside of you for hours, until I’m all ready to fill you up again.”

Hannibal makes a desperate kind of noise in response, and when Will pushes himself upwards, he is satisfied to see Hannibal’s come beneath them. He slides two fingers through the mess, first licking one clean himself, then pressing another against Hannibal’s mouth, who laps at it obediently.

“Such a good boy,” Will mummers, and Hannibal’s eyes close in pleasure.

Will pulls himself out of Hannibal slowly, the disappointed whine Hannibal makes in response a balm to his soul. He makes sure to replace his cock with his fingers quickly, catching a bit of come with one hand and bringing it upward to feed to Hannibal.

He accepts it greedily.

Debating whether or not to overstimulate Hannibal’s body by stimulating his prostate with his fingers, Will’s eyes catch on a familiar glint on the nightstand.

An earlier thought resurfaces.

Gazing thoughtfully over the body laying prone and sweet beneath him, Will’s thoughts race through his head. For all his planning and preparation, there is no saying how Hannibal will react once he’s crawled out of subspace, in control of himself once more.

And Will wants to make a lasting impression.

Picking up the scalpel, Will places his legs on either side of Hannibal’s hips, one hand placed firmly on Hannibal’s neck, recalling the way the action made his lover shiver with pleasure earlier. The other trails the scalpel along the doctor’s cheek.

Hannibal’s eyes open slowly.

“You want me to mark you, baby,” Will coos deceptively innocent, “make sure no one ever forgets that you’re mine, least of all yourself?” He tilts his head downwards, looks up through his lashes. “I want that. I want to. Do you want to do this, for me?”

Hannibal is unable to resist.

_Anything._

“Yes,” Hannibal says devotedly, and Will smiles.

“You’re so good for me,” he breathes before capturing Hannibal’s mouth in a searing kiss.

Hannibal responds sluggishly, still not quite back in his own body, mind floating in a haze of bliss. So good, Will thinks, and all for him.

He moves the scalpel slowly, teasingly. Across Hannibal’s sharp cheekbones, the dull edge of the blade cold against Hannibal’s skin. Across his neck, where one slash could mean the end of Hannibal’s life, the most vulnerable place on the human body.

Hannibal doesn’t even tense up. Not in the slightest.

The rush of pleasure that ignites in him is almost enough to make Will hard once again. Alas, he is only human, so his cock only twitches tiredly.

The scalpel moves lower, slower, until it finally reaches its destination.

Right over Hannibal’s heart.

Will moves carefully, but deliberately. Four straight lines, even-paced, one by one slashing through the skin of Hannibal’s chest just deep enough to draw blood.

“Deeper,” Hannibal’s voice is slurred. Unexpected, just as Will has started the first slash. Will looks up, pulled from his single-minded focus on Hannibal’s chest. “I want it to scar,” Hannibal adds.

Will breathes in shakily. His beautiful boy. “I love you,” he repeats, needing Hannibal to know. He understands what Hannibal is offering, he does. And he wants it.

“I want all of you,” Will says, and presses the scalpel into Hannibal’s skin once more, deeper.

When he’s done, the ‘W’ on his hart looks beautiful, lined in liquid crimson.

“Now you’re mine forever,” Will breathes, supresses the urge to bow his head down and lick the blood from Hannibal’s chest. “My name on your chest, or, upside down, for your eyes only, the M that denotes you as mine.”

Hannibal does not breathe for three full seconds, as his eyes slowly move downward, trailing along the mess on his chest.

And he smiles.

* * *

Will makes sure to clean them both up, place a clean bandage across the wound, and whisper sweetly into Hannibal’s ear as he frees his lover and tucks him into their bed.

 _I’ll take care of you_ , he whispers. _I’m here for you, baby. My love_.

Hannibal does not respond, nor does he protest. He snuggles closely against Will’s body, still hazy, and Will wraps his arms around him tightly.

Then he closes his eyes and drifts off to a peaceful sleep.

For the first time in a long while, Will is completely, one hundred percent happy.

* * *

When Will wakes up it is to a scalpel to his throat.

The very same he had used to mark Hannibal with, just hours before.

He opens his eyes slowly. Will is laying on his back, prone, with Hannibal leaning over him like a feral beast. The hand holding the scalpel is trembling ever-so-slightly against his neck.

Will wonders how long Hannibal had been standing like this. His eyes are averted.

Will smiles.

“If you do it, you have to promise me two things,” he says, unruffled. “Consume every part of me.” Hannibal’s eyes snap to his. “And two,” he continues, holding Hannibal’s gaze, “don’t make it quick. Savour it. You can only do it once.”

He means it. Will knows his eyes show it, open windows to his soul, all its darkness laid bare before his chosen one.

Hannibal swallows thickly. “Why aren’t you angry?” he asks, and his voice is small. Soft. He sounds almost lost.

Will raises a hand, trails it along Hannibal’s cheek. The man does not stop him.

“Because it would have been worth it,” he answers, _you are worth it_ , and Hannibal lets go of the scalpel.

His whole body collapses heavily upon Wills as broken sounds start to emerge from Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal presses his head against Will’s neck as if it would protect him from the world, and cries.

“Don’t love me.” he says in between sobs, and Will’s heart breaks just a little bit. “Please, don’t love me.”

“Why?”

“It would destroy me.”

“Then I will pick up the pieces,” he says softly, and pulls Hannibal close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the 8k of smut <3  
> Fic touched up 29/01

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If I missed any tags, let me know!
> 
> If you like sub!Hannibal, come join us at the discord - discord.gg/MGyUQvY


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